


Biggles and the Fortune Teller

by wateroverstone



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wateroverstone/pseuds/wateroverstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biggles and Algy go on a tour of the remoter parts of Scotland. Biggles insults the wrong person and there are some very strange consequences</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biggles and the Fortune Teller

It all started, if these things can be said to have a start, one day at Brooklands. Sat round a table in the canteen, Biggles, Algy and an ever shifting mix of friends and acquaintances were discussing favourite picnic spots, and feelings soon began to run high as each championed his own part of the country. Beaches in every part of the British Isles were mentioned, lakes, fields, fells and mountains. There were a lot of insults, a lot of laughing and a good deal of competititive one-upmanship as to the very best place.

‘Still,’ said Biggles thoughtfully later that evening ‘Jock did have a point. It is a little embarrassing that we have seen so much of other people’s countries and so little of our own.’  
Algy agreed that a tour of Scotland and the North Country during late June would be desirable and so an itinerary was drawn up to visit some of the remotest isles and lochs of Scotland in their amphibian. 

 

This went very well at first. There was some magnificent scenery with unseasonably hot weather lowering the midge count. Biggles and Algy explored the shores of the lochs they landed on, sometimes choosing to be near a town to buy food and see its attractions, sometimes picking a wilderness so empty that they could be the only two men in existence. They did a lot of walking, quite a lot of swimming and spent a good deal of time just contemplating the scenery and chatting in a desultory fashion

On this particular occasion they decided to walk along the loch shore to a small town. Their guidebook had told them that its Gaelic name translated as ‘town of the witches’, which sounded interesting. They found it disappointing, though. The houses and streets were dark and mean looking and there seemed to be no monuments or places of interest. They bought a little food to supplement the rations in the aircraft, had a drink of poor beer at a small pub and were now wandering around the back streets to see if there was anything of interest there before heading back to the amphibian. They had just paused by the gates of a small and uninspiring church and were debating whether it was worth spending time looking at its interior or seeing if there were any interesting inscriptions incised onto the gravestones, when a figure clad in filthy rags accosted them, offering to tell their fortunes. 

Biggles turned down the offer briefly and with finality. The woman, by its voice, persisted. Biggles again refused and walked away. When she followed and asked to tell their fortunes for a third time, Biggles lost his temper and told her exactly what he thought of fortune tellers.

She looked up at him, a strand of red hair escaping from under her hood in a sudden breeze that had sprung up. Biggles met the gaze of the greenest eyes he had ever seen and revised his estimate of her age downwards by several decades. He thought that a remarkably pretty girl might be underneath all the dirt and wondered how she’d look cleaned up.

‘’Thrice asked and thrice denied. You are going to have an interesting few days, James. And you, Algernon Montgomery.’

Biggles and Algy looked at each other in surprise, then back, but there was no longer any sign of the would-be fortune teller and the day was again dead calm.

They speculated on how the Fortune Teller had known their names all the way back to the amphibian, but found no obvious or easy answers. Algy wondered what she meant by ‘an interesting few days’ but Biggles laughed it off, claiming it was just a device to make them feel uneasy and to encourage them to attribute to her foretelling all the small coincidences and strange happenings that normally occurred over a period of time. By tea time they had moved onto other subjects and by bedtime, as they settled into their blankets in the tent pitched in a small clearing, they had almost forgotten it.

Biggles awoke thick headed, with a vague feeling that he’d been having nightmares that he couldn’t recall to mind. He thought he must have been tossing and turning in his sleep because his pyjamas seemed to be twisted uncomfortably around him. He put his hand up to straighten them, froze and yelled for Algy. 

‘Who are you and where’s Biggles?’ Algy asked, his voice cracking with incredulity.

‘It’s me, you fool,’ Biggles said in a voice that was not his own.

‘You’re not Biggles, because Biggles isn’t female,’ Algy replied with irrefutable logic. 

Biggles sighed and recalled several incidents of Algy’s career that Algy didn’t think anyone other than Biggles knew about, including one that certainly wouldn’t be shared with any ladies.  
Algy reluctantly accepted that Biggles now appeared to be in a female body.

Algy slid out of his blankets and reached for his clothes, then paused. ‘I’m not sure I feel comfortable getting dressed in front of you,’ he said, surprised. Biggles snarled and turned his back. Algy got out of his pyjamas and into his clothes in record breaking time and Biggles suddenly realised that he was shy of getting dressed in front of Algy.

Luckily for him, Algy seemed unwilling to see Biggles’s new body, and volunteered to get breakfast going, keeping his back firmly to the tent as Biggles dressed whilst trying not to look at or touch himself.

Algy burst out laughing as Biggles came into view.

‘You look like a second rate drag act from a third rate music hall turn. We’re going to have to get you some proper clothes.’

‘I am in proper clothes’ complained Biggles.

‘Stand up straight and let me look at you,’ demanded Algy.

Algy looked at Biggles curiously. He seemed to still be the same height, but his weight was now distributed very differently. His shoulders were narrower, his chest quite generously endowed. His waist was hidden by his ill fitting clothes, but Algy judged it to be rather narrow whilst his hips were straining his trousers in a disturbing fashion. His features were a feminised version of the ones Algy was so familiar with and there was no trace of stubble. His short hair gave him an androgynous look.

‘Show me a forearm?’ he asked.

Biggles reluctantly pulled up his jacket and shirt sleeves to show a shapely, feminine arm with just a faint dusting of blonde hair.

‘Weird,’ Algy said, shaking his head. ‘You look like you are the twin sister of yourself. It’s hard to tell in those clothes, but I think you might be quite attractive once you’re in clothes that fit.’

Biggles glared at him, which made Algy laugh louder, and sat down to the sound of a splitting trouser seam. He sighed and conceded that he would have to be re-outfitted. They discussed the matter over breakfast. Luckily they’d brought quite a lot of cash with them, in case the weather turned inclement and they wanted to stay in hotels, or if they liked an area enough to want to hire a car and tour round for a few days, so paying for an outfit wasn’t going to be a problem, but

‘What size do you think you are, old boy?’ asked Algy, laughing again. 

Biggles opened his mouth and shut it. 

Rummaging through the tool box, they found a folding rule and some string. Biggles fished out his pocket notebook and a pencil, and they were ready to start measuring.

‘Stay still,’ grumbled Algy. ‘You’re as skittish as a deer. What do you think I’m going to do to you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Biggles, and to his and Algy’s horror, burst into tears.

‘Don’t cry,’ Algy said awkwardly, patting Biggles on the shoulder, ‘It’s only for a few days. She said so.’ 

And he passed him his handkerchief.

Bemused by his own tears, and furious that he was crying, Biggles finally stopped sniffling and consented to Algy measuring him. Biggles was indeed the same height, but every other measurement had changed, except for his inside leg. Algy didn’t know if women needed their inside leg measurement for clothes, but he took it to be on the safe side. Algy was to take the amphibian to the nearest airport, go into the town, buy a set of clothes, then come back to Biggles who wished to go nowhere any one could see him. 

Algy’s morning went to plan. He walked up into the main shopping street of the nearest big town and went into the largest women’s outfitters where he explained his cousin had dropped her suitcase into the loch and needed a set of dry clothes. He added that his other cousin, her brother, had stayed with her, just in case anyone ever saw both the male and female versions of Biggles ,and prepared to look like a fool through not knowing what he should be buying or having proper measurements.  
The shop girl was most amused at his lack of knowledge, agreed that perhaps he should have stayed long enough to ask his cousin for her sizes before leaping into his plane and flying off to get new clothes, and was delighted to help him select an outfit and suitable replacement undergarments. She was an excellent saleswoman, and, after she’d pointed out that the weather was due to change, Algy saw the wisdom of buying a second outfit in case the mythical clothes of his mythical cousin didn’t mythically dry as fast as hoped. Walking away from the shop with a large number of boxes, Algy looked forward to seeing Biggles’s face when he saw what he’d bought him.

Biggles’s morning had been less enjoyable. He’d spent it trying to read a book so as not to think about his new body, and drinking coffee. Then had come the moment when he realised he needed to relieve himself. This had involved considerably more trouble than the simple unbuttoning of the flies that he was used to, and he had to pay more attention to his new body than he was comfortable with. He sat smoking furiously, reciting the main towns, cities and exports of every country in South America in an attempt to distract himself from his situation.

Algy laughed hysterically as Biggles opened the boxes and saw his new clothes. 

‘They didn’t do women’s slacks,’ he gurgled ‘it won’t harm you to wear a skirt for a day or two.’

Biggles rather thought it might, but the loss of a shirt button as he raised his arm to throw a box at Algy reminded him of the need for clothes that fitted. 

It took him a little time to work out the undergarments, especially given his reluctance both to look at himself and to touch any part of his new body, but eventually he was attired in a tweed coat and skirt, with a thin jumper beneath. He reluctantly recognised that there probably wasn’t an alternative to the stockings and suspender belt, but he was grateful that Algy had chosen a very plain style of clothing and quite masculine brogues. 

It took him a moment to find the courage to leave the cabin and go out to Algy, but he squared his shoulders, muttered ‘soonest begun, soonest done,’ and walked out.

Algy swore, came to his feet and stared, then laughed weakly. ‘You scrub up very nicely,’ he said appreciatively. ‘Give us a twirl.’

Biggles settled for a glare, instead.

Over a cup of tea, Biggles having reluctantly decided that he couldn’t not drink for an unknown length of time, so he was going to have to just cope with female plumbing, they discussed where to go next. Biggles was in favour of the most remote loch they had planned to visit, and Algy agreed that he could understand Biggles’s desire to stay out of circulation until he was restored to his usual self. Accordingly they packed up and made their way there, after a slight contretemps as to who was going to fly. Algy refused point blank to let Biggles take off until he was accustomed to his new body and had adjusted better to how it worked. After some argument and a pebble throwing competition, Biggles was forced to agree that his reactions were all off and sat in the seat he was less used to.

Making camp at their new base, he became increasingly frustrated that his strength was less than he was used to having, and his movements and balance felt wrong. He complained vociferously to Algy who eventually ran out of patience.

‘Well, why don’t you find out how this female body of yours works instead of complaining it doesn’t behave like your own body?’ asked Algy ‘It’s no different to what a lot of men went through in the war, losing limbs and having to re-learn how to walk and do things. And every other man of my acquaintance would think all his birthdays had come at once if he got a female body to play with for a few days.’ 

Biggles acknowledged the justice of this and suggested a walk. Algy offered him his arm, which Biggles indignantly turned down, then promptly tripped over a tree branch. Algy snorted.

‘Girls sway a bit as they walk. See if that helps your balance.’ 

Biggles threw an old acorn at him and missed by several feet.

Biggles temper was improved by the walk. He accepted that essentially he was the same man he had always been and he needed to make the best of things until his body returned to normal. He refused to contemplate it not doing so. He practised walking until Algy was happy that he was neither striding or mincing, and tried to find the humour in his situation.

Back at their camp he was more relaxed, and they talked as usual, but Algy noticed that Biggles still flinched if he accidentally touched himself.

‘Why are you so uncomfortable with this body,’ he asked? ‘I’ve been watching you and you just seem to be trying to pretend it’s not there.’

‘I am’ admitted Biggles frankly. ‘I feel like it belongs to a stranger and I don’t have permission to touch it.’

Algy thought about this for a moment then knelt in front of Biggles. 

‘Same fair hair, even still cut the same way,’ he said deliberately ruffling it. He reached for Biggles’s hand and held it in front of him. ‘Same shaped hand, same shaped nails, just a little smaller.’ He put his finger under Biggles’s chin and lifted it. ‘Same chin, just a little more delicate, same cheek bones, eyes still hazel and deep set. This isn’t some stranger’s body you are inhabiting, this is you. You have every right to be as at home in this body as your usual one.’

‘Well, let’s hope I change back before I need to get fully accustomed to it,’ sighed Biggles, who really didn’t feel as if this body had anything at all to do with him and was rather uncomfortable being scrutinised by Algy in this way.

Algy smiled. ‘You’re doing very well. Can you imagine what Wilks would look and behave like if he was changed into a woman?’

Biggles laughed. ‘Do you think the moustache would stay or go?’ 

‘Stay, And he’d be certain to wear a floral pinny with clashing lipstick.’

Biggles grinned as he remembered the Mess night in question and their conversation returned to their usual subjects. 

By unspoken consent Biggles went to get ready for bed first, calling Algy when safely squeezed into his pyjamas and tucked into his blankets, and the sequence was reversed in the morning.

The next day was stunningly hot. Algy announced his intention of swimming and Biggles, who had been relieved to discover that his other outfit was a pair of shorts and a shirt, paddled. He was trying to skim stones when his foot slipped and he failed to recover his balance before falling full length in the water. Algy hooted with laughter and Biggles found relief in swearing. After that he thought he might as well try swimming, although he was secretly relieved that Algy stayed close by in case he got into difficulties. His elbows and hips weren’t in the right places and he had to make constant conscious adjustments to his physical actions.

His difficulties arose when, once they were cold, they left the water. Algy sat on the grass to dry off in the sun and watched with malicious amusement to see what Biggles would do. Biggles considered his options, glared at Algy, warned him what he’d do if he laughed, and in a manner he hoped was dignified, removed his shirt and shorts to hang on a branch to dry. Algy didn’t laugh, although his lips did twitch, and he watched Biggles rather than turning away. 

Rather to his surprise, Biggles fell asleep in the sunshine. He awoke to Algy telling him he was in danger of burning and asking if he wanted oil. He grunted agreement, then squealed with shock as cold oil was poured onto his warm back and a pair of hands spread it.

‘What is it this time?’ asked Algy, sounding almost as surprised as Biggles.

‘Sorry, I forgot,’ explained Biggles, ‘and I seem to be more sensitive, and I just got a shock and since when do you rub oil into my back?’

‘Since you changed sex,’ replied Algy calmly. ‘I’m struggling a bit with things too. I don’t know whether to treat you exactly as I did before, or with the courtesy I’d show to any woman and it really doesn’t help that the combination of my best friend’s mind and a rather gorgeous female body makes me want to kiss you.’

‘Oh,’ said Biggles blankly. He should have realised it would be difficult for Algy too, but just at the moment his mind really didn’t want to process what Algy was suggesting. He also realised that he really didn’t want to rub oil into himself, either. Choosing the lesser of the two evils, ‘Would you mind finishing oiling me?’ he asked apologetically.

Algy’s look said he knew exactly why Biggles had asked.

‘I’ll do your back and you do your front?’

‘I’d rather keep my hands oil free so I can have a cigarette,’ 

Algy looked amused, and Biggles grinned. ‘C’mon, be a pal.’

They tacitly kept to neutral subjects the rest of the day. Algy treated Biggles as he always did, and Biggles tried to behave normally but Biggles was aware of Algy’s eyes watching him for much of the day, resting on him, considering him as something other . In fact Biggles was absurdly sensitive to Algy’s every expression and nuance of behaviour. He felt like he’d lost a skin, that he was exposed and revealed. Every breeze, every current in the water produced disturbing sensations. He pretended to himself that nothing was different and ignored the emotions inside, refusing to recognise their existence. They dipped in and out of the water, and dozed in the sun. Algy lay on the rocks and tried to tickle a trout for their evening meal from a pool. Rather to his surprise he succeeded, and they ate it fried in butter straight from the frying pan with their fingers, washed down with sweet tea.

Algy and Biggles retired at the same time that night. Biggles wasn’t sure why, or if it was a sensible decision, but it seemed to be to do with pretending everything was as usual. Biggles turned his back on Algy whilst he changed, and wondered if Algy was watching him or not. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he thought about it and he was breathing a little faster and more shallowly. Algy was watching, because he suddenly remarked ‘Your scars are all gone.’ Startled, Biggles turned, tripping up over the pyjamas he was putting on. Algy caught him, their eyes met and Algy flushed deeply but held on. Biggles recognised with great reluctance that they were going to have to talk about it.

He took a deep breath, sat back on his heels and started. ‘I might be in a woman’s body, but I’m still a man, and I’ve always liked women, never other men.’

Algy nodded. ‘You’re my best friend. And suddenly you’re my best friend and physically very attractive to me.

Biggles understood. He thought of how he’d feel if Algy had turned into a woman. Amused he imagined her, a pleasant open face, fair with a scattering of wholesome freckles. And with Algy’s personality, shared experiences and memories, she would be extremely attractive to him. They sat on their blankets on that warm evening, smoking and talking it out, a little elliptically and with long thoughtful silences, but Biggles, really, had already decided what he was going to do. He was very fond of Algy, and he knew what Algy would do if the situation was reversed. And, if he really had to admit it, there was a certain curiosity about how it would feel, a curiosity that he didn’t feel comfortable acknowledging or exploring alone.

‘If I say stop, we stop,’ he said abruptly.

Algy looked hurt. ‘Of course. What do you take me for?’

‘Sorry.’

Biggles stubbed his cigarette, leaned over to Algy, and before he could change his mind, kissed him. Algy moaned a little, wrapped his arms about Biggles and deepened the kiss. 

They took things slowly. There was no need to rush. Biggles found his skin more sensitive and enjoyed being gently touched and stroked and kissed, although he was still not sure about being touched by a man when he thought about it. It was much better to shut his eyes and enjoy the sensations than to think about it being Algy who produced them in this wrong body of his. He felt honour bound to respond to a certain degree, and tried to concentrate on the pleasure it was giving Algy rather than on what he was doing. He felt a slow coiling of heat deep inside, and became a little more demanding, thinking less of who he was with and much more about how it felt. Their breathing grew shorter and more ragged, and Biggles stopped thinking at all.

Finally Algy, careful because he’d realised that in this incarnation, at least, Biggles was a virgin, slid inside. Biggles mewled and Algy froze. Biggles opened unfocused eyes, his pupils blown, and looked dazedly at Algy. ’If you stop I will kill you.’

Algy gently found a rhythm. Biggles moved with him, encouraging him to speed up. Algy cautiously did so. Biggles opened his eyes once more, snarled ‘I’m not made of glass. Put your back into it!’, wrapped his legs around Algy and made him do so, digging his fingers in to pull him as close as possible and arching up into him.

They came together. Biggles stayed awake long enough to complain that it was a sticky mucky business being female and Algy could have the wet patch, and then plummeted into a deep sleep, curled into Algy.

In the morning Algy gradually became aware of Biggles’s gentle breath on his face, and then that Biggles’s lips were so close to his own it would be a shame not to kiss them. He did so. He had sleepily stroked his hand all the way down to Biggles’s hip bone before his brain caught up with the things that felt different.

‘Wake up, you’re a man again.’

Biggles opened his eyes, looked at his arms, muscular, sinewy arms that were definitely hairy and definitely male and smiled a huge smile of relief.

They stayed by the loch again that day. There was an unspoken feeling that they needed a day of putting things into perspective. Biggles was falling into sudden reveries which made Algy wonder what he was thinking about.  
He found out at bedtime. Sat on his blankets with his arms wrapped around his knees and looking miserable, Biggles explained. ‘I need to know if it was being female or you.’

Algy thought about this. ‘Spell it out for me?’

‘Last night. Did I respond to you because I was in a female body or would I have done so anyway? I need to know.’

Algy thought this through, and mentally acknowledged that Biggles did have a point. He was fairly certain that Biggles wouldn’t respond to him now he was male again, and he knew that a male Biggles held no interest for himself, but he understood Biggles’s dilemma. He always did have a mania to know, he reflected. Remembering the previous night, Algy knew he really couldn’t say ‘no’. Telling himself that he must have done more unpleasant things in the war, although off hand he couldn’t think what, he shrugged off his pyjama jacket.

‘Are you overcome with lust for me yet?’ he asked lightly?

‘No.’ Biggles was definite. ‘But it took me a while to get started last night.’

Algy looked at him, and then before he could really think about what he was doing and have second thoughts, he leaned over and kissed Biggles.

Biggles deepened the kiss.

They took it slowly, but this time the sensations felt....different. Not unpleasant but not awakening any inner fires. Finally Biggles was sure. It had been an artefact of his female body and not a previously unrealised desire for Algy. He confirmed the results with a relieved Algy, sorted out their pyjamas and bedding and went to sleep.

The next morning everything really was back to normal. They discussed their itinerary, packed up camp and Biggles took the pilot’s seat. Once they were cruising Algy asked curiously

‘So what was it like as a woman?’

Biggles grinned.

‘’Dou you want to go and find that Fortune Teller again and find out?’


End file.
